


summerlicious

by armethaumaturgy



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Drabbles, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Summer, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-08 01:42:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11071416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armethaumaturgy/pseuds/armethaumaturgy
Summary: a collection of summer-themed drabbles from a tumblr askmeme





	1. Quiet warm summer mornings in bed

**Author's Note:**

> i'm still taking these! feel free to send me some over [here](http://esper.co.vu/post/161315202159/)

Warm, golden rays of sunlight stream into the bedroom, shadows of the fluttering tree leaves projecting on the covers. Sorey shifts, turning over as he slowly regains consciousness.

When he opens his eyes, he’s greeted with the image of light outlining cascading waves of white hair, and a pair of violet eyes trained on him. 

“Good morning,” Mikleo mutters, his voice as quiet and melodic as the chirping of the birds outside.

It paints a smile on Sorey’s face without effort. “Good morning,” he whispers back, scooting closer to the Seraph and embracing him within the circle of his arms. “Have you been up for long?”

Mikleo hums, tangling his legs with Sorey’s under the covers. “Since you last hit me with your elbow when turning over,” he says.

“Whoops,” Sorey giggles, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. “Sorry about that.”

Mikleo’s eyes flutter closed and Sorey keeps pressing soft kisses to his hair, twirling one long strand around his forefinger. He almost dozes off again before catching himself, and, upon thinking about it for more than approximately five seconds, comes to the conclusion that there’s no reason _not_  to sleep in.

“Just means I get to sleep more while you make breakfast,” he mumbles into Sorey’s neck, half-slurred and half-muffled.

Sorey laughs above him again, this time pressing a kiss to his temple. “How do I make breakfast when you’re still holding me?”

Mikleo’s brows furrow; his sleepy brain decides it doesn’t want to deal with the question. “Later,” he huffs, curling his legs a little tighter to pull the taller boy even closer. His calf is covered by a colder part of the blanket now and he wiggles his toes.

If Sorey answers verbally, Mikleo doesn’t really hear before succumbing to the sweet lull of sleep. What he does know, though, is that the arms don’t leave from around him the entire time he sleeps in.


	2. Favorite cute summer outfits

“I can’t believe this,” Mikleo grumbles, shaking his head. “Even Zaveid is wearing a shirt.”

Even his remarks don’t seem to cut down on Sorey’s enthusiasm. Then again, Mikleo can’t really say he minds all that much, especially when sweat beads up on the tanned skin and runs over the muscles.

Mikleo sighs to hide the way his heartbeat bumps up after a moment too long of staring. 

“Maybe if we combined our clothes we’d get one full outfit…” he huffs, and all Sorey does in answer is pout.

“But I like your clothes,” he says, placing his hands on his hips. He - _very_ obviously, one might add - rakes his eyes over Mikleo’s form. “Your legs are very pretty.”

Mikleo tenses up, going red from head to toe. He uses those exact ‘pretty legs’ to knee Sorey very lightly, twisting away to hide his flushed face.

Sorey laughs, a grin spreading on his face as he pounces on the Seraph, worming his way underneath his shirt to run his fingers over his sides. Mikleo jumps, twisting faster than Sorey could blink, and retaliating.

Well, Mikleo can’t complain about the lack of his shirt when he’s out of breath giggling.


	3. Watching the sun rise/set

Not that Mikleo doesn’t look great all the time, but Sorey has to admit there’s something about the red of the setting sun warming his skin into pink hues and turning the blue of his clothes into purple and orange highlights.

And his eyes, oh gods his eyes… Like a fire burning in them, undisrupted by the fluttering of his lashes, turning them brighter and shining.

He could get lost in them.

“Sorey?”

Oops, looks like he already did.

Mikleo smiles, a little too knowingly as he tosses his head to the side to clear the bangs from his face. “Here,” he says, handing a glass bowl to the other and sitting down onto the blanket.

Sorey takes it with a grateful smile and a soft kiss to Mikleo’s cheek. He doesn’t even have to say anything for Mikleo to know he thinks he’s beautiful.

The reds and oranges of the light slowly fade into darkness and the light of the moon. By then, the bowls have been emptied and set aside so they wouldn’t end up under either while they settle down, Mikleo’s head on Sorey’s chest as they lay there in silence, watching the cover of the night spread before them.

Even in the almost nonexistent light, Mikleo seems to glow, his porcelain skin and snowy hair and everything else.

He’s a prettier spectacle than the stars above.

* * *

Waking up to a mouthful of hair should not be as nice as it is. But the way Mikleo’s weight warms his chest and the arms beneath his hold him close is… heartwarming, for the lack of a better word.

Not even dictionaries could have a word to describe how Mikleo makes him feel.

Or maybe he’s just feeling the sun on his skin? No, it’s definitely Mikleo.

But the sun does peek from behind the horizon, streaking in from over the rocks. The sky is dyed a pale purple, the clouds outlined by orange. It plays with each strand of Mikleo’s hair, catching and bending the shadows to make it an illusion of flowing river stream. Of the clouds themselves twirling together with the wind. Of all things beautiful. Of all things indescribable.

“You’re so gorgeous.”

When Mikleo can’t see him, it’s better to say it out loud.


	4. Watching the fireflies

“Wouldn’t they make a good light?” Sorey comments as one lands on Mikleo’s hair, its tail flickering soft orange light on the white strands. “You know, put them in a jar and carry them instead of a lantern?”

“I’m pretty sure they’d die, Sorey,” Mikleo mumbles, waving a hand to get the bug off of himself.

It doesn’t leave; on the contrary, a few more land themselves on his head, wiggling around and making themselves comfortable.

Sorey’s pout doesn’t stay on his face for long, because how could it when Mikleo keeps shaking his head fruitlessly, his long hair flying back and forth and the fireflies still not leaving him. Their light almost looks like a halo.

“You look like an angel,” he blurts the thought out without thinking. Well, Mikleo already is an angel of sorts, being a Seraph and all, but in the fluttering, dim light, his features stand out and and even the flush on his cheeks when he frowns is cute.

“And you look like an idiot,” Mikleo huffs, finally giving up on trying to swat the fireflies away. He gives one last lazy wave, succeeding in nothing more than pushing his hair behind his shoulder.

Sorey grins. “Your idiot!” he proclaims, sounding way too proud of himself for something like that.

Mikleo shakes his head, but he has to agree. “Come here,” beckons he with a finger, and Sorey eagerly scoots closer so Mikleo can kiss him. “My idiot,” he mutters against Sorey’s lips, his breath fanning over his face.

One of the fireflies decides it doesn’t want to be on Mikleo’s head anymore, and flutters down to sit on his cheek instead. Instinctively, Mikleo raises a hand and hits it, smacking Sorey’s cheek along the way.

“Ow,” Sorey complain, voice full of mock-hurt, “Usually you don’t hit me when we’re kissing…”

Mikleo starts to swat the bugs out of his hair again.

“I want to go home.”


End file.
